


Forgiveness: an Exhibition.

by sinningpumpkin



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood, Broken Will, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Murder, Sad baby and annoying old man, Stabbing, knife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 02:45:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11545863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinningpumpkin/pseuds/sinningpumpkin
Summary: Will learns how to forgive Hannibal.





	Forgiveness: an Exhibition.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy

His back was to the door, still held in perfect posture as he drew his pencil over the wide page of the sketchbook. Head tilted slightly, flicking his eyes between the painting and the page, using fragments of faraway memories and dark corners to create the faces. At this time of day, the gallery was quiet, the footsteps closing in on him were as recognizable as his scent. Cheap cologne, the deep smell of pine that seemed to run through his veins. He took a step closer. Clean earth mingled with his normal scent. Silence and stillness held them in place, his eyes pointed sightlessly at the page where his pencil had frozen. It was not a surprise. He always knew Will Graham would come. 

“Hannibal.” His voice was low and rough. 

“Will.” His voice flowed like silk over jagged rocks. 

Silence permeated the air again, the presence of the man pressing on it until it broke. He took a seat on the bench and forced himself into Hannibal’s peripheral. His eyes flicked away from the paper to Primavera, scrutinizing the flower girl’s stomach before continuing to sketch. There was dirt under Will’s nails, caught in the deep lines of his palms. He was not wearing his glasses. He tilted his head slightly, taking in the man farther, without looking up from the page. He jolted, hard enough for their knees to almost brush. His breathing was ragged pulled from deep in his chest for a few seconds, punctuated by the scratch of Hannibal’s pencil, before it leveled out again. “I don’t know why I’m here.” He said finally, a lame excuse for the silence that stole his breath. The words floated through the air, dispersing around the two men without any belief to anchor them. Will stood as if to leave, a sudden panic forcing Hannibal to do something irrational. He turned to look up at the man. 

It was worse than he could have imagined. His beautiful Will was replaced with something else entirely. Eyes sunken and dull, pupils dilated and unseeing as they fixed upon Hannibal’s face. His hair was wild and unwashed, matted to the back of his head. Cuts and scrapes marked his once clear skin. Lips cracked and nearly bleeding. His chest ached as he looked at the man who had replaced his own perfect Will. Finally, he consoled himself and spoke. “Do not lie to me Will.” The word felt foreign and wrong in his mouth. This was not Will. He turned away from the unseeing eyes. “You know why you are here.” He stood frozen beside him for a few more seconds, before taking his seat. 

“I am here,” his voice was alien. Scraping across Hannibal’s ear drums with such intensity that he wished the man would be silent. His fist clenched around the pencil as he forced his face bland. “I am here, because,” he tried to continue, his body forcing huge shuttering breaths between each word. Hannibal continued to sketch. “I missed the way you made me feel.” His muscles relaxed, a soft smile playing across his lips as he fell back into control. “The way you always make me feel.”

The words made the air seem thick and heavy, hot, and humid as Hannibal regarded this stranger silently. Eight months had fractured his Will. Into the stranger that spoke the words he always wanted to hear, in grating tones. Into the man that came here, but shook like a man possessed. He tried to reconcile the pieces of this man to the complete one he left bleeding out in his kitchen months ago. It had been too long. Long enough for this new being to be born out of the broken porcelain that was his pretty doll. 

His pencil paused. He heard the noise of the knife flicking open. He saw it glinting in the man’s hand. He saw the slow, jerky motion as the small knife was jammed into one of the major arteries in his neck. He felt the jerk as it was pulled out of him. He let it happen. He felt the warm spray of blood across his lap, he felt his head go light, he felt his body go limp. 

But suddenly he was there. The pieces came together, his beautiful gorgeous Will, grabbing at the back of his suit jacket and keeping him sitting up. The knife was discarded as his dirty palm pressed into the jagged cut, attempting to stop the bleeding. Tears ran freely down his face. Their chests pressed together, Will’s deep thundering sobs shaking the both of them. His gorgeous face contorted into a near scream as he pressed himself closer to Hannibal. Will, beautiful, sweet Will. A small smile played on his lips as he finally heard the boy’s hysterical whimpers. “I’m sorry, oh god, Hannibal, I’m so sorry. Please no, please I’m sorry. Don’t leave me, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

He attempted to hush him, his limbs barely obeying him as he wrapped himself around the boy. “Will, please.” He took a shuddering breath in response, tears wetting the front of his shirt. “Now is the time that you forgive me, not when you beg forgiveness.” His eyes fluttered shut, heavy and lethargic, hating to abandon the vision of his boy hanging onto his every word. “I am sorry Will.” His consciousness was fading, even with the pressure on is wound, he only had a minute or so before he would be completely gone. “I am sorry for leaving you so long, my beautiful boy.” He forced his limp hands to squeeze around his heaving rib cage, stubbornly fighting with his tongue to find the words he needed. “Please forgive me for breaking you, and forcing you to put yourself back together.” His mouth was dry, running out of words. “I curse myself for not being able to watch you grow.” The dark behind his eyelids seemed thicker now, the museum lights seemed to be fading. 

Just as he thought he couldn’t see through the dark, the sobbing quieted, the ragged, choked voice spoke. “I forgive you.” 

He found it in himself to turn his face, and press an open mouthed kiss to Will’s wrist.


End file.
